Racine: Phaedra

348
RACINE
Your arm. Strike home. Or, if it would disgrace yov
To steep your hand in such polluted blood,
If that were punishment too mild to slake
Your hatred, lend me then your sword, if not
Your arm. Quick, give 't.
CEnone,— What, Madam, will you do?
Just gods ! But someone comes. Go, fly from shame,
You cannot 'scape if seen by any thus.
Scene VI.
Hippolytus, Theramenes.
Theramenes.—Is that the form of Phaedra that I see
Hurried away ? What mean these signs of sorrow ?
Where is your sword? Why are you pale, confused?
Hippolytus.—Friend, let us fly. I am, indeed, confounded
With horror and astonishment extreme.
Phaedra—but no ;
gods, let this dreadful secret
Remain forever buried in oblivion.
Theramenes.—The ship is ready if you wish to sail.
But Athens has already giv'n her vote
Their leaders have consulted all her tribes
Your brother is elected, Phaedra wins.
Hippolytus.—Phaedra ?
Theelamenes.— A herald, charged with a commission
From Athens, has arrived to place the reins
Of power in her hands. Her son is King.
Hippolytus.—Ye gods, who know her, do ye thus reward
Her virtue?
Theramenes.— A faint rumor meanwhile whispers
That Theseus is not dead, but in Epirus
Has shown himself. But, after all my search,
I know too well
Hippolytus.— Let nothing be neglected.
This rumor must be traced back to its source.
If it be found unworthy of belief,
Let us set sail, and cost whate'er it may.
To hands deserving trust the sceptre's sway.